


Day Off

by pasiphile



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They can do heists, spy missions, and outright fights. But domesticity is a new one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosenkavaliers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosenkavaliers/gifts).



Napoleon was sitting in the hallway when Gaby arrived at Waverly’s office.

Gaby paused, still unnoticed, and smiled. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing Napoleon sitting there, hands folded in his lap like a schoolboy being called to the headmaster.

“Agent Solo.”

Napoleon looked up, and Gaby was delighted to see the genuine, undisguised pleasure on Napoleon’s face – even though it only lasted for a split second, soon replaced by his usual mask. “Miss Teller,” he said pleasantly. “What a coincidence.”

“Or not.” She nodded at the door. “Waverly buzzed me in. What about you?”

“New mission, I suppose.” He tilted his head. “Evil never sleeps.”

“Speaking of…” She smiled. “How’s Illya been doing?”

“Peril?” Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “He was with you, wasn’t he?”

“No-o. Haven’t seen him since Paris.” She cocked her head, puzzled. “Waverly had said he’d be meeting up with you. That was… two weeks ago?”

Napoleon shrugged. “Haven’t seen a trace of him.”

Gaby bit her lip. “Do you think he – ”

The door opened and Waverly stuck his head out, looking slightly irritated in that subdued, very English way he had. “Ah, Miss Teller. I thought I heard voices. Can you come in, please?”

She smiled and winked at Napoleon, who beamed at her in response. But Waverly didn’t invite him in.

Gaby closed the door and Waverly sat down behind his desk, hands folded. “Congratulations are in order, I think,” he said pleasantly. “Well done on – ”

“Where’s Illya?”

Waverly pursed his lips. “Well done on ???. I imagine you would like some time to rest after that caper, but should you – ”

“Where’s Illya?”

“- _should you_ feel like stepping back into the field, I can – ”

Gaby put her hands flat on the desk and leaned forward. “ _Where’s Illya_?”

Waverly sighed, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Agent Kuryakin’s current status is classified, not available for – ”

“I don’t care.” Gaby smiled. “Where is Illya?”

Waverly folded his hands and stared at Gaby. Gaby stared back.

Waverly sighed again. “Agent Kuryakin was wounded in action and is currently on convalescent leave.”

“Wounded?”

“It’s… complicated. He isn’t in any mortal danger but – Miss Teller?”

But Gaby happily ignored him and went to the door. She opened it and peeked outside. “Napoleon?”

He looked up, pleasant surprise all over his face. “Yes?”

“Come in, please.”

He followed her in. “Something up?”

“Illya’s wounded.”

“Ah, I see.” Napoleon turned his smile on Waverly. “Where is he?”

“Oh _god_ ,” Waverly groaned, in an uncharacteristically open display of emotion.

“It might just be easier to tell us, you know,” Gaby pointed out.

 “It’s classified, I’m afraid.”

“Okay.”

Waverly blinked. “Sorry?”

“I said, _okay_.” Gaby smiled at him. “By the way, the coding system hasn’t changed since September, has it?”

“The… the what?” Waverly asked, looking between them.

“The coding system,” Napoleon supplied helpfully. “For the outside alarms.”

“Would be a little embarrassing, wouldn’t it?”

Waverly covered his eyes with his hand. “Are you telling me you would break into your own headquarters?”

“Not unless you give us any reason to,” Gaby said sweetly.

Waverly looked up at her. Then he looked at Napoleon.

“Oh, damn. Fine.” He snagged a paper from the file and shoved it at them. “There, his current whereabouts. Now can we please continue?”

“Of course. The answer is _yes.”_

“Answer?”

“You asked if I wanted some leave. I think I feel like a holiday.” She turned to Napoleon. “What about you?”

“You know, now you mention it, I _have_ beenfeeling a little under the weather recently. Some days off might do me good.”

“That’s sorted, then.” Gaby turned back to Waverly and gave him her best smile. “You’ll arrange the paperwork?”

“Do I have a choice?” Waverly said bitterly.

“We’ll see you in a few weeks,” Napoleon said cheerfully.

“Bye, boss!”

***

_Chains around her wrist, her  body being pulled this way and that, the endless rain and the smell of oil and in the distance Illya disappears over the edge –_

“Gaby?”

Gaby opened her eyes. Car. Napoleon.

She blinked and stretched, shaking off the nightmare. “Any trails?”

“We may have picked one up when we passed Bern, or it could be coincidence. We lost him now.”

“Sure?”

Napoleon gave her an ironic look. She turned, looked over her shoulder.

They were driving in a narrow pass, views clear for miles. “Oh,” she said.

She settled back into her chair, chewed her lip. Napoleon stayed silent – which, for him, was pretty unusual.

Then again, this was a pretty unusual situation.

There had been no extra information on Illya. Even Waverly had refused to let go of anything else. _Wounded, not in mortal danger_. That covered a lot of ground.

Of course she knew they had a dangerous job, that death was always a possibility. But somehow, it had always seemed so far removed from them. Theoretical. They’d survived so many things, surely that meant something?

She glanced at Napoleon. He was concentrating on the driving. But Napoleon was an excellent driver; no way this little road required all of his attention.

He was worried too.

The annoying thing was that they weren’t really in the kind of relationship where mutual worries could be discussed.

“Think we’re here.”

Gaby blinked and sat up, then immediately wished she hadn’t when they drove onto a bobbly country road and she was thrown back hard into her seat.

There was a little cottage in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by forest on all sides. “ _Here_?” Gaby said, disbelievingly.

“As far as I can see, yes.”

They got out.

“So,” Napoleon said casually. “For how much do you want to bet Illya has us under fire the second we open the door?”

“The door? He’ll have us booby-trapped before we even get that far.”

Napoleon gave her a look. “Dinner at the Savoy? Loser pays up.”

“Dinner and room.”

Napoleon’s smile took on a filthy edge. “Oh, deal it is.”

“Deal.”

They went to the cottage.

It was dark inside. Gaby carefully pushed open the door – nothing. Just shadows. Napoleon followed her, closed the door behind them.

“Hands where I can see them,” a familiar voice barked.

“Damn,” Gaby said.

“That’s starter, main, _and_ dessert,” Napoleon said.

Then, “ _Gaby_?”

She dropped her bag on the floor. “Do you have lights in here?”

“What are you doing here?” Illya asked. “Did Waverly send you?”

“We’re on holiday,” Napoleon said. “Ah, hold on, here we are.”

The lights flickered on.

Gaby made a little noise.

At one point in the recent past Illya had been quite thoroughly beaten up. He was sitting upright on a bed – at least he could still sit up, that was something – but the lower half of his body was hidden beneath a blanket. His face was still covered in fading bruises, but what most disturbed her was the open, almost vulnerable look in his eyes as he stared at them both.

“Well,” Napoleon said, blinking. “You’ve looked better.”

Illya pursed his lips and turned his face away. “You’ve made mistake, coming here.”

“That’s for us to decide, isn’t it?” Gaby gave him a sour smile. “Now, where is the bedroom?”

***

The cottage was tiny, compared to what they were used to. There was the living room, with the bed Illya was still recovering in, a built-in kitchen, a dining table and not much else; a small bedroom with an even smaller bathroom, and a shed. That was pretty much it.

Illya had been staying here for a week, he admitted after some increasingly testy questioning. No contacts other than a nurse who dropped by once a day, but who hadn’t today – which was why he’d grown suspicious and shut off the lights, lying in wait with his gun.

Gaby immediately sent Napoleon off for provisions, to the nearest village which still was almost an hour drive. Of course, the way Napoleon drove, he’d be back before they knew it.

Gaby pulled a chair up to Illya’s bedside and sat down, legs up, chin leaning on her knees.

“What happened?” she asked, softly.

Illya gritted his teeth and stared ahead.

“We didn’t read the file. Waverly didn’t want to give it to us.” She smiled, tiredly. “We had to threaten him with burglary before he even told us where you were.”

Illya glanced at her, approval mixed with the – whatever it was he was feeling.

“Why are you here?” she asked, gently. “Why didn’t he send you somewhere normal to recover? A hospital?”

“It’s punishment,” llya said harshly. “For losing my temper. I was careless, got caught.”

“Interrogated?”

He shrugged. “Not my first time, Chop Shop.”

She looked away, teeth in her bottom lip.

Then she slid off the chair and got onto bed. She lay down on her side, careful not to jostle Illya, then pillowed her head on his chest. After a moment, he hesitantly put his arm around her shoulders.

When Napoleon came back and found them still cuddled on the bed, he thankfully refrained from comment.

***

“Do you believe him?” Gaby asked that night, in the privacy of the bedroom, with Napoleon changing into his pyjamas next to her.

“Which part?”

“That this is punishment.”

“Hm, maybe.” He sat down on the bed and took off his socks. “But it might just be a way of giving him space and time to recover.”

“On his own?”

He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. “Do you really think he’s a people person, Gaby?”

“Fine.” She flopped down on the bed. “So they give him privacy. Isolation. He doesn’t see it as a reward, though.”

“Well, he wouldn’t. Surly fellow, our Illya.”

She crawled underneath the covers and folded her hands behind her head, stared up at the ceiling.

“He was tortured,” she said, softly.

Napoleon didn’t reply.

Gaby was clever, a quick learner. She was good at her job, and only rarely felt the disadvantage of her inexperience – she could stand her own, even against the KGB’s top agent, even against Napoleon.

And then there were times she felt painfully, dreadfully _young_ compared to her two men.

“Don’t worry, Gaby,” Napoleon said gently. “He’s tough. He’ll pull through, once he’s stopped sulking.”

“I hope so.” Gaby turned on her side and closed her eyes. A moment later the bed dipped and she could feel Napoleon lie down, quite close to her. His hand gently touched her hip.

She took it and pushed it back to him.

“No?” Napoleon asked, carefully neutral.

“No.” She turned, looked at him. “Not with Illya next door.”

Napoleon stared at her for a bit, looking as if he wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how. Which was _weird_ , for him.

Then he sighed and nodded. “Fine. Night, Gaby.”

He turned onto his side as well.

After a moment, Gaby scooted back a little and pressed her back against Napoleon’s, solid and warm.

***

It was weird, domestic, in a way she hadn’t really had before. Sure, she’d had her few moments of playing house with Illya and Napoleon, but that had been separately, and while she was withholding secrets. After that, they’d always been on missions, always at work. The three of them simply relaxing together, without the need to keep up a cover or plan out a mission…

It was nice, really.

Gaby was taking the opportunity to brush up on her Italian, going mostly by books. Napoleon was reading as well, although god knows what about. And Illya…

She glanced up. Illya was reading something as well, but he hadn’t turned a page in minutes and his lips were thin. And he kept looking at the two of them when he thought they wouldn’t notice.

Gaby clucked her tongue and went to the radio. Napoleon had fiddled with it until they somehow had gotten a signal, and Gaby could even find a decent station.

She turned up the volume, then idly started swinging her hips.

“What are you doing?” Napoleon asked, sounding intrigued.

“Alleviating boredom.”

“If you intend to dance, I will need warning,” Illya said, eyeing her warily.

“Warning?” Napoleon grinned. “Do you dance dangerously, Gaby?”

“I dance _excellently_.”

Illya huffed. “That’s not how I remember it.”

Napoleon looked between them, obviously delighted. “What happened last time you danced?”

“She slapped me,” Illya said, and Gaby had the immense satisfaction of seeing unadulterated, unmasked surprise on Napoleon’s face.

“And this was _before_ you two…” Napoleon gestured between them.

Gaby smiled at him. “In my defense, I was a little drunk. But only because Illya refused to share the bottle with me.”

Napoleon clucked his tongue. “Hardly gentlemanly, Peril. Leaving a lady to finish off her drink alone.”

“She is no lady,” Illya said darkly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She twirled. “ _Prendolo come un complimento_.”

Napoleon turned up his nose. “You still have some work left, Gaby.”

“ _Deiner Deutsch is jedoch auch nicht perfekt_.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Which is why we default to English, haven’t you noticed?”

“We are doing you a courtesy,” Illya said, catching on the game.

 “I resent that,” Napoleon said. “I’ll have you know I’ve gone undercover several times in Berlin without anyone getting suspicious.”

“They probably just thought you had a strange speaking disability and were too polite to mention it.” She smirked at him. “Just admit it. You’re quicker with your hands than with your tongue, Napoleon.”

“That’s not what you said in Paris.”

Gaby paused, glanced aside. Illya, who had been watching the bickering with something she’d almost call _fond_ , had suddenly gone stiff.

It was hard to believe Napoleon would ever be jealous, but Illya…

“My Russian could use some work, though,” she said casually. “Illya? Do you feel like teaching me?”

He blinked.

“I’d learn from books, but I can’t read Cyrillic that well yet.” She pulled a face. “Please?”

He sighed and shifted over to the side. “Come here then, Chop Shop.”

“Thanks.” She crossed the room.

As she came past Napoleon, she couldn’t resist the urge to stick out her tongue.

***

The next few days happened much the same. Boring domesticities, occasionally livened up with banter and debate, and then sometimes soured by a sudden strange, unspoken tension.

It was absurd. The three of them worked extremely well together, they always had, but…

This wasn’t work.

Each night it became a little harder to keep to her side of the bed, to stick to strictly platonic cuddling. And each day it was more difficult not to just crawl all over Illya and kiss him until he lost that damned dead look in his eyes. But she couldn’t. Not while the other was around.

Although…

She closed her eyes.

Napoleon, sharp and smooth, each touch and movement full of his experience.

Illya, steady rock of a man, his hands almost absurdly tender for their size and the way he looks at her, worshipful, drinking in every reaction and always _always_ searching for new ways to make her moan.

The two of them… She knew they got up to some things together, when she wasn’t around, had walked in on them one memorable occasion in Madrid – and god, she would never forget that sight, of Illya’s hands dragging over Napoleon’s shoulder and Napoleon’s mouth on Illya’s –

“Enjoying yourself?”

She blinked. Her hand had drifted down without her noticing, cupping her breast, thumb resting just below the nipple.

 She smiled, lazily. “A girl’s got to find some way of keeping herself entertained.”

“Gaby, if you need entertaining, all you need to do is ask,” Napoleon said charmingly.

She dropped her hand and glared at him.

Napoleon shrugged. “He’s started walking again. A few days and he’ll be fit enough to take off again, and we can all go back to our normal routine. Would that suit you better?”

“You’re a dick, Napoleon,” she said.

He smiled. “I’ve been called worse things.”

***

“ _Ya ne gava_ \- what?”

Illya sighed, and put on that forced-patient, condescending face that always made her want to slap him. “ _Ya ne gavaryu pa ruski_.”

Gaby tilted her head. “How do I know you’re not just playing a joke on me? You could have me saying all kinds of things.”

“It would be unprofessional,” Illya said, looking vaguely insulted.

“Oh, and you’re always so professional, are you?”

Illya’s face froze. Gaby caught and held a sigh.

The truth of it was that she fully respected Illya’s abilities and skills, that she knew very well just how damn good he was. And while his temper did get in the way sometimes, it wasn’t significant, and not more than, say, Napoleon’s vanity. He might have his weakness, Illya, but he was still formidable.

But she didn’t need to tell him that; he was confident enough as it was.

“Control your emotions.” She poked him in the side. “I was only making a joke.”

“It wasn’t very funny. And stop poking me.”

She poked him again.

Illya raised his eyebrows, cocked his head. Much the same face he’d worn after the first time she’d slapped him in the face. “Don’t,” he said, warningly.

She tickled him instead.

He yelped, then caught her wrists. She put her foot on the side of the bed to pull off, then somehow miscalculated and almost toppled backwards. But Illya pulled and she changed her grip and she went the other way, landing full on Illya.

She wriggled, tried to pull her wrist loose. Illya’s grip was like iron and he didn’t budge an inch, damn him, so she tried to dig her knee into his side. He winced – bruised ribs, leftover from his ordeal – but he still didn’ let go.

So she leaned down and kissed him.

His grip loosened immediately, his lips soft and pliable beneath hers. She smiled against his mouth, then bit down.

He jerked. “Gaby – ”

“Am I interrupting?”

Beneath her, Illya froze.

Gaby didn’t even bother looking up. “In or out, Napoleon.”

“Since when is _in_ an option?”

Gaby rolled her eyes and sat up. “Since always. Or, since one of us had the balls to bring it up.”

Napoleon’s eyebrows went up. He nodded at Illya. “And what does the big guy say?”

Gaby wriggled her hips. “The big guy is firmly in favour.”

Illya took her waist and tried to push her off. Gaby clung on.

“Gaby…” he said, tiredly.

“Oh, shut up. Give me a good reason not to. You and him are at it, aren’t you?” she added, waving her hand between Illya and Napoleon.

“Yes, but – ”

“And we are, and you know I and Napoleon are too. So let’s just cut the middleman and jump all in, all right? I’m tired of dancing around you two.”

And before Illya could protest again, she pushed him down and kissed him again. He slowly went relaxed.

Then the bed shifted and he tensed up.

“If three’s a crowd, Gaby…” Napoleon murmured in her ear, from behind her.

“It’s not. Is it?” she added, looking down pointedly at Illya.

He gave her a dark look, but stayed quiet.

“Good.” She kissed him again.

Illya was finally starting to get into it, kissing back and his hands sliding up her thighs. Napoleon brushed the hair away from Gaby’s neck and pressed his lips to her pulse point.

She was dizzy. They couldn’t be more different, both in terms of looks as personality, as what they liked in bed, and she felt like she had to keep adjusting, changing.

Napoleon grabbed her hips and pulled her back. Illya seemed surprised, tried to hold on briefly - god, even here he was protective - and she had to bat his hand away. 

Napoleon's fingers ran up her thigh. She groaned. "Stop _teasing_. It's not like I need much mo- _hng._ " She squeezed her eyes shut relaxed into the feeling of Napoleon's fingers pushing slowly inside of her. This had been good the first time he did it, but now, with all the experience he had with her, and his scary-accurate memory and accuracy...

She moaned again, then opened her eyes.

Illya was staring at her.

"Fuck me," she breathed. And when Illya's hand moved up she grinned, savagely, and added, "Not you."

She could hear Napoleon's chuckle, but only vaguely, because that heat in Illya's eyes, mixed anger and approval and, of course, desperation, was incredibly appealing. She didn't break eye contact, not even when she could hear the rustle of clothes as Napoleon undressed, or when he pushed her skirt aside and her underwear down. Illya was looking increasingly frustrated.

Napoleon pulled her carefully back. The head of his cock nudged against her. Illya's eyes briefly went over her shoulder - Napoleon, and she could imagine pretty well what his expression would look like.

A lot like hers, probably.

He pushed inside. Gaby gasped and Illya immediately resumed staring at her, wide-eyed and intense. 

She grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand roughly between her thighs. Illya, clever boy, didn't need even a second before his fingers fell into familiar, quick movement against her. Gaby tipped her head forwards, caught between them. Too much, almost, because both of them - even  _them -_ tended to lose concentration when they were fucking, too lost in their own pleasure to give much of attention to hers, but Illya - there was no distraction there.

Pleasure crested. She dug her nails into Illya's chest, half-saw his tight-lipped reaction, but then she lost most thought and just gave in as she came.

She pulled forward and dropped down onto Illya's chest. He put his hand on the back of his head, gently holding her. She made a muted pleased sound.

Then she pushed up and sat back, leaning against the wall, squished side to side against Illya. Napoleon calmly tied off the condom and flicked it fastidiously to the floor, even though he was still hard. 

"Well?" she asked, one eyebrow arched.

"Was that a question or a command?" Napoleon asked smoothly. His sleek and casually confident attitude didn't hold up nearly as well when his cock was standing out hard as a flagpole, though.

"Curiosity."

Illya tried to push up onto his elbows. Gaby unceremoniously shoved him down again. "Now is your time to prove it, isn't it? That you are decent with your mouth as well?"

"Oh, no." Napoleon smiled, and it was a dangerous smile, the kind she'd never seen directed at her, that usually just showed up around enemies. "That's not how we play this game. Is it, Peril?"

Illya scowled. 

Then - in a series of movements too quick to follow entirely - he sat up and turned, grabbed Napoleon's shoulder and pulled and somehow they ended up with Napoleon on his back and Illya on top of him, hands around Napoleon's forearms. 

"Like this, then?" Illya growled. " _Cowboy_?"

"That'll do," Napoleon said lightly, then pulled his hand free and yanked Illya down by his shirtfront, into a kiss.

Gaby tilted her head, fascinated. She was still on the side of the bed, with Napoleon's back half on her thigh, and from this close it was - well. Hotter than she could have imagined it.

Napoleon let go of Illya's neck and his hand disappeared somewhere out of Gaby's view. Illya jolted as if hit, then made another of those deep challenging growling noises and fisted Napoleon's hair, leaned down and kissed - or bit? - Napoleon's neck.

Gaby bit her lip, hand going down between her thighs. Hell, how could she not, when  _that_ was happening right in front of her? Sure, her imagination had sometimes ran away with what she knew about them both, putting together images from her own experiences and from the times she's seen them together, as close to fighting as to fucking. But even her most creative fantasies paled in comparison to the real thing.

Illya pulled back. He leaned up on his elbow, and his other hand had gone the same way as Napoleon's. The angle was shit from here, all she could see was the occasional bit of wrists, a flash of cock when they moved their hips - and their reactions, of course. It was odd seeing it from the outside for once, the way Illya's shoulders went all tense and how Napoleon's - 

"Need a hand there, Gaby?" Napoleon asked, with a quick glance at her. He sounded breathless, but still unfairly composed.

"No, I'm good."

But Illya's attention had been drawn. He looked up suddenly, as if he'd forgotten she was there, and the heat and intensity of his eyes made her gasp.

 

Then Napoleon punched him in the stomach.

Illya was too winded to react and Napoleon hooked his leg around Illya's and flipped them around. He was on Illya in less then a second, pinning him down by the shoulders and kissing him hard. Illya grabbed Napoleon's neck - she could see his fingers, knuckles going white - and threw his other arm around Napoleon's back, heel digging into the mattress and hips lifting up.

Gaby slipped a finger inside herself, curled up, arched her back into it. Hell, but they were gorgeous together, even as they looked like they were two seconds away from trying to murder each other. Or maybe that was part of the reason; she'd always liked her men to have a bit of a fight in them.

Illya growled and pushed up, Napoleon wrestled back. And since the bed really wasn't that wide, after one good push from Illya and a subsequent roll they went straight off the bed, landing with a loud bang.

Gaby didn't bother following them. She just pressed her shoulders against the wall, teeth dug into her bottom lip as she roughly worked herself to orgasm, the men's moans a delightful background soundtrack.

She flopped down bonelessly on the bed, sprawled wide, still panting. A cease in the groaning noises suggested the boys had finished too. She smiled. 

Then she pushed up onto her elbow and leaned over the edge of the bed. Illya had landed on top, and she could barely see Napoleon underneath Illya's bulk. 

"So do you always end up on the floor?" Gaby asked sweetly. "Or was that for my benefit?"

Napoleon said something, but it was too muffled to understand. Gaby fell back onto the bed. 

"I don't really care either way," she informed them, eyes half closed. "You give a good show, fellas."

More groaning, and when she cracked open one eye she could see Illya looming over her, hand on his side. He really was quite tall. 

An alarm bell went off somewhere in the back of her sex-fogged mind. "How are your injuries?" she managed to ask.

"I am - " Illya started to say, then went pale and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. 

Napoleon sat up, his usual mask replaced with genuine worry. "Whoops. Probably should've been a little gentler there, Illya."

"Don't worry," Illya replied, with a pained-looking smile. "I'm sure you'll survive."

Napoleon barked a laugh, then hopped to his feet. "Indestructible Russian make. Lie down, Peril, take a breather."

Illya frowned and looked like he was about to protest, but Gaby prodded him in the side and Illya winced. "Fine," he said, with a heavy sigh. And he lay down, next to Gaby.

Napoleon stood looking at them for a moment, not talking for once, with a strange little smile on his face. Then he turned on his heel.

"Where do you think you're going?" Gaby called out.

Napoleon paused mid-step. "Sorry?"

"Stay," Gaby said, much like she'd do to a dog.

Napoleon gave her a smile, one of those perfect white-teethed broad ones. Then again, Napoleon's charm tended to increase exponentially as he got nervous. "Not sure there's enough room for me there, Gaby."

"We'll make room," she said, pointedly, her words carrying a heaviness in meaning she didn't really intend.

Not that she'd take it back.

Napoleon sighed and went back, sat down on the edge of the bed. "This won't work."

"This bed is too small," Illya said sternly.

"I don't care." Gaby turned on her side, curled up around Illya's side. "I'm comfy."

Illya sighed, then moved a little to the side. He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her bodily off him, making more room, and she somehow ended up practically sandwiched between the both of them.

It was warm, and claustrophobic. All three of them were sticky with sweat, which made even the smallest movement uncomfortable. And she was fairly sure she was crushing Illya's chest in a way that wasn't entirely healthy for him. 

"Okay?" Illya asked gently.

"Perfect," she replied, eyes closed.

She fell asleep smiling.

***

 Three weeks later, there was a knock at the door.

“Hmmf?” Gaby murmured sleepily, from where she was pillowed on Illya’s chest.

“There’s someone at door.”

“ _The_ door,” Napoleon said. He snuggled closer into Gaby’s back. "Learn English, Peril."

“Go open it.”

“Me? You do it.”

“I am still recovering from my injuries.”

“Hah. That's not what you said last time.”

Gaby poked Napoleon in the side. “Go, open," she said, then snuggled against lllya's chest.

Napoleon gave a put-upon sigh, then slid out of bed. Gaby closed her eyes, listened to Illya's steady breathing.

"Who is it?" Illya called out.

"Waverly. We've probably overstayed our welcome here."

"Nothing will come of ignoring him," Gaby said, blearily. "Go talk to him."

Napoleon muttered something beneath his breath, then went to the door. Gaby buried her face into Illya's chest.

"Agent So- _good god man put some pants on_.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
